Falling
by SolarumNyx
Summary: They knew just how many rules they were breaking - but they didn't care. Short introspective piece into England's subconscious ,exploring the thoughts that came with their relationship.


**Whoa...I've fallen in love with this style of writing. I really like how this turned out, actually. Personally, I just kinda emptied my mind, and suddenly I was typing, and this came out of it. I love it when I can do that ^_^ Anyways, this was meant to bring out the incestuous side to USUK, and it's not meant to make much sense, because it's just how I like it. :)**

**Reviews are appreciated~  
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><p>England was falling.<p>

Falling through the vacuum of space, suffocating – and yet, he knew he couldn't be, because in zero-gravity, there was no free-fall, and England was most _definitely_ falling. He was falling at terminal velocity, speeding up and speeding up until there was just _absolutely no way_ he could possibly fall any faster – and yet, he still did. He was skydiving, only he was falling head first, whistling through the atmosphere until he burned up, but he knew that couldn't be true, because he was burning from the _inside_ _out._ Caterpillars or locusts or ants or some kind of insects were eating away at his insides, stiffening up and turning into a violent storm of butterflies that fluttered around until England finally tore his gaze away from the infinite landscape of pure _blue_ before him and exhaled, letting a breath out that England _certainly _hadn't known he'd been holding in. England was high, ecstasy running through his veins, waiting until the beating of his heart slowed – and maybe even stopped, because if England's heart sped up any faster, it would most likely burst, and England wished to remain alive for _just_ a while longer – enough to see America again, and then he could die happy.

And then, England's perception shifts just a bit, and suddenly he's floating on a river, surrounded by the _blue_, that perfect, eternal shade of brilliant _blue_ that England still saw in his dreams every night, and all thoughts disappear as he stares at the beautiful _blue_ that just went on and on, into infinity and collapsing in on itself like a black hole, sucking England into it. Finally, when England's tested his limits as much as he could without drowning, he surfaces again, and pulls away, pulls out of the _blue_, and no matter how much he wants to – he can't go back, because of the blood that runs through his veins – and suddenly he's launched, 100 miles per hour into a fiery hell filled with thorns and demons that reach out for England.

"Sinner!" they cried, reaching out with their claws to tear England's skin open, and he bled out, life draining from him, watching his blood spill out and onto the fire-blackened ground of the dried landscape around him – the same blood as his brother, wasn't it? At the thought, his heart fluttered a bit, and pumped just a bit faster, hastening the flow of scarlet liquid that poured from the nation's wounds – and England knows, he just _knows_ that he deserves this torment, because as long as he loves America, he was a sinner, unnatural and demonic, and no matter what they said, no matter how much they denied it, _this_ was their future – and all England can think of is America, being condemned to an eternity of this, and no matter how hard he tries, tries to push down the sinful thoughts – sinful love, he can't. So he just gives up, and lets all the thoughts flow out of him, following the stream of scarlet flowing away, and suddenly the scene changes again.

He was with America, and there were no blood, or fire, or demons, or thorns, just fields of lavender and lilac all around them. There were no negative thoughts or other nations or responsibility or _sense_, and England, for once, was okay with that – okay with just _forgetting_ for once and letting him and America just _be_, and he was happy. Because, for once, they were in a place where nothing _mattered_, not their gender, or their relationship, or the fact that they were _brothers_, or the fact that they _knew_, very well, _just_ how many rules they were breaking – and nothing existed except love and happiness that England knew couldn't last, but he didn't care. Because for once, there's nothing stopping them from just _being_ there, with each other, and it wasn't inhuman, or unnatural, or taboo, or even incestuous, because they just _were_, and maybe for once they could be Arthur and Alfred and not England and America, because Alfred and Arthur _could_ love each other, while England and America were _nations_, and _brothers_, and everything else that could possibly be _wrong_ about it _were_.

So for now, England just ignored everything going on in his head, and just stared into the endless blue that was America's eyes, and kissed him as passionately as he could, and nobody else thought it was wrong, or disgusting, or immoral, because _nobody else existed_, in this fairytale world that they had created for each other, and England's food was amazing, and America really was a hero, because as long as they have each other, it was true – all of it was absolutely, without a doubt, _true._ And suddenly, England was falling again.


End file.
